His Lady
by Bazylia de Grean
Summary: "He has no choice but to tell his lady everything, and has even no more right to call her his lady but still he does, because that is what she has always been and will always be."


I

With the whole royal family and many of the nobles and warriors as witnesses, Gorim swears his loyalty to House Aeducan, and then to king Endrin's daughter, the princess. To be chosen a royal's second is a great honour, and Gorim is proud, and he knows his father is, too.

The words are spoken, and then Gorim draws his sword and slides the blade across his hand, drawing blood, as the ceremony requires, and as red stains the blade his oath his complete; this is a sign he will not hesitate to shed blood for lady Aeducan, if need be. He is not a young warrior any longer, a few dozen years older than her, but the best Orzammar has to offer.

There is a maid waiting beside with a bowl of water, a cloth and some bandages, but lady Aeducan takes the bowl and the linen and the maid steps back, shocked and a little afraid.

"Allow me," the princess says with genuine kindness and a smile, as if she was truly happy that he was chosen to be her second.

"My lady!" he protests.

"Daughter!" says the king, in surprise and maybe with a slightest note of dismay, but the queen only smiles softly and gracefully nods her head, a tiniest movement, and the king does not speak another word of protest.

"It is only fair," lady Aeducan says and smiles again, puts the bowl on the table and because no one dares to move yet she takes Gorim's hand and pulls him towards the bench.

She sits next to him and proceeds to wash the blood away and wrap up his wound, and slowly the talks in the room arise again, and all is back in place, except it is not, not quite. Gorim does not look at lady Aeducan's face, keeping his eyes fixed on her hands. There is a stain on her gown, red blood a stark contrast to the otherwise immaculately white silk; this will never quite wash off, and he briefly wonders whether it is an omen, and of what.

"Here, done," lady Aeducan says.

"Thank you, my lady." He glances up, and is momentarily startled at seeing her face this close.

"You are welcome, Ser Gorim."

Her eyes are like fire, bright and lively, and her hair is like golden lava, and in the white bejewelled gown she seems to be shining, radiating light, and he is dazzled.

. . .

They are training as usually, and normally he would admire how she seems to be dancing around with her twin blades in a fighting style not suiting dwarven tradition very much, but it fits a princess just fine. But he has returned from a raid just yesterday, and though he still feels satisfaction because of the killed darkspawn, his injuries bother him, and the pain is a slight hindrance. Still, he tells lady Aeducan nothing in fact it was he who insisted that they should proceed with the training. Which he now regrets, but cannot back off.

One of the princess' practice blades hits the target, and though it has blunt edges and does not cut, the blow falls on his wound and Gorim lets out a hiss of pain. Lady Aeducan startles.

"Ser Gorim, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, my lady," he replies, and the same moment he feels something wet trickling down his side; the wound must have reopened. Fool, he curses inwardly, you are a fool, Gorim Saelac.

Lady Aeducan watches him closely, then lets her daggers fall to the floor. "But not such a fine liar," she observes mildly. "You're injured, aren't you? Come, I'll see to your wounds."

"My lady..." he protests, aghast, but she is quicker and before he steps back, she catches his hand.

"Afraid of healers, are we?" she asks with a merry gleam to her eyes, and Gorim gives up and laughs, and is rewarded with her brilliant smile.

"Didn't dare trouble you, my lady," he admits. "It doesn't befit a princess to..."

"Yes?" she asks in a silky voice, daring him to continue. "I'd think a princess can do what she wants."

"You know that's not entirely true, my lady."

Lady Aeducan motions him to sit on a bench in the corner, and from a stone shelf she takes some linens, and takes the water brought there for them to drink and pours it into a bowl. Then she looks at him expectantly, and he begins taking off his training armour, feeling very uncomfortable.

"The king would not approve..." he mutters.

"But the queen would have," she says defiantly, flames leaping up in her eyes, and Gorim thinks that yes, she is so much like her late mother, made of stone like all the dwarves, but underneath there is fire. Oh, how bright she burns...

Lady Aeducan frowns at the red staining his undershirt, then rolls the material up. Methodically but gently she cleans the wound, and the cool water is soothing, and then she wraps it up with linen. Gorim keeps his eyes away, fixed on the floor, trying not to look at her, because if he did, she would instantly guess, and he cannot have that. If she knew, his duty would be taken from him, and he would become a dishonour to his family...

"You thought I wouldn't notice," the lady says softly, and Gorim jerks, abruptly shaken out of his gloomy reverie.

"Notice what, my lady?" he asks, somehow breathless, because he is afraid to think what she is talking about, and because her face is only inches away, and her eyes are searching his face, and when his gaze meets hers he cannot look away.

But she is not offended, nor angry; she only smiles, a small warm smile that melts his heart. "I think you know," she says and then she leans over him and softly kisses his cheek, and Ancestors, this means she must know of his feelings, but by some miracle she welcomes them, and Gorim is speechless.

"My lady... my..."

She does not laugh at his confusion, but the smile slowly fades from her face, and he understands she is waiting for his reply. Still, he is at a loss for words, but she is waiting so he takes her palms in his – there is a small smear of blood staining her beloved hands – and he kisses her hands with reverence and ardour and maybe a little fear. And his lady smiles at him, and leans over him again, and tentatively they kiss, and when Gorim opens his eyes hers are still closed, and he understands how absolute is her trust in him. And words return to him, and everything becomes simple again.

"I love you, my lady," he confesses.

"I know," she says with a smile. "I hoped you would," she adds quietly.

Gorim's heart soars.

. . .

There is a feast to be hosted in the royal palace this night, and Gorim is waiting at his lady's door, always her faithful shadow. When finally the door opens and lady Aeducan emerges, he hold his breath. Again she is wearing a white gown, tailored from silk so fine it seems to shimmer with her every move, and the jewels reflect the flames of lamps and torches lighting the hall, and with her hair and eyes she seems to be a jewel, reflecting light and yet shining with some inner flame.

"You will win many nobles' hearts this night, my lady," he say, polite as ever.

"I don't care about their hearts," she replies. There will be some politics involved even in this feast, but there will also be music and dancing, and tonight she is not only a king's daughter, but also lets herself be just a young woman, carefree and merry.

"Come, sister," prince Trian calls from the adjoining hall, unusually kindly.

"Coming," lady Aeducan replies, and moves to join her brother.

For the rest of the evening Gorim is always close at her side, but at a respectful distance, and there is no time to talk, and while others dance with her he can only watch. But then after dinner, when another bout of dancing begins, she gets up with a dazzling smile on her face, and the king starts, for right this moment she is looking so much like the late queen that everyone has to notice. And lady Aeducan reaches out her hand gracefully towards one of the stunned guards, and then she proceeds to dance with others of the warrior caste alike, and so when she dances with Gorim no one pays attention, and he keeps gazing aside, not looking at her face.

"Thank you, Ser Gorim," she says when the dance is over, and smiles at him brilliantly, just as she did at all the others that night.

"It was an honour, my lady," he replies with a respectful bow. They are the only ones to know he truly means the last two words.

Later on, at the table, he hears snatches of conversation as everyone whispers that yes, she is so much like her mother, and how she would make such a wonderful queen herself one day, would she not? And he notices prince Trian is listening, and there is a frown on his face; and prince Bhelen is listening also, but when he catches Gorim's glance he just shrugs, because what is it all matter to the youngest brother?

Late into the night Gorim escorts his lady to her room, like usual, and he bids her goodnight. But instead of answering she reaches up and undoes the pins that hold her hair, and like golden lava her hair cascades down her face and shoulders, and he stares, certain he has never seen a sight so beautiful in all his life.

The opened door of her room is obscuring them from view, and his lady reaches for him and pulls him close, and he takes her into his arms at last, and her lips are the sweetest mead, and her hair is silk just like the material of her gown. And for the first time since the passing of her mother there is happiness in his lady's eyes.

. . .

II

To say his lady is devastated by the turn of event would not give justice to her pain. Her father the king is taken ill with grief, her brother is dead because of her other brother's betrayal, and she is the one accused of murder and kept in a prison cell like some commoner. Gorim's blood boils at the mere thought of it all.

For a long moment he watches her, sitting on the cold floor with her head resting on her knees, her hair like a curtain over his face. He remembers having seen her smile so many times that to see her so broken is like a sword stab right through the heart.

Finally he moves, and when his lady hears the footsteps she glances upwards, and her eyes lit up when she notices him, and she even manages to smile. They talk in hushed voices, and he tells her to try to find with the Grey Wardens once in the Deep Roads, tells her how he would rather accompany her that go into exile, and swears to wait for her in Denerim.

Gorim hears the guards and knows his time with lady Aeducan is over, and his heart is a heavy weight in his chest. But she asks him to wait, and quietly she pleads to be held one last time, and he cannot say no to this voice, this face, these eyes. He reaches between the iron bars and wraps his arms around her, and she clings to him, and they hold each others as best as they can. Her beloved head is warm against his shoulder, and her hands clutch at him, and for once Gorim can find the right words.

"My lady, my heart..." he whispers ardently, knowing this might be their last meeting, and his lady tilts her head up to look at him, and he leans towards her lips. The kiss is bitter with hopelessness and despair, and even love does not sweeten it, because it is a farewell.

He turns away and leaves, and by Ancestors, this is the hardest decision he ever had to make. His footsteps echo loud on the stone floor, so loud Gorim almost does not hear her muffled sob. Almost.

His heart shatters.

. . .

"My lady..."

"Gorim, wake up."

His wife is shaking him by the shoulders, and he wakes up and slowly comes to, and by the look on his wife's face he knows he spoke in his sleep. Despite the cold she gets up and starts pacing across the small room.

"Who is this 'lady' you keep dreaming about?" she asks, hurt evident in her voice.

There is no point in lying to his wife it is her he keeps dreaming of, because Gorim has never called her his lady.

"The king's daughter," he explains reluctantly. "I was her second before my exile. Hence the lady thing." he pauses. "Orzammar was my whole life," he adds, and his wife nods and returns to bed, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

"Get back to sleep, Gorim," she says and pecks his cheek, and it takes a lot not to flinch.

It is not that he married because he had to, it is not that he feels nothing for his wife. She is a pretty thing, she is kind and patient, and she laughs and smiles a lot. But her smile is not dazzling as his lady's smile had been.

He got to Denerim, almost certain his lady was dead, and already grieving for her, and yet some part of his stubbornly clung to hope that she made it, that the Grey Wardens took her in, that at least maybe she was alive and they would meet. But with each day, his hope waned. And then news of Ostagar came, and of the death of all Grey Wardens, and Gorim's hope faded.

And the daughter of the smith he was working for at the time was pretty and kind and patient, and clearly smitten with him, and after much deliberation Gorim decided that when his own hope is gone, maybe he should not snuff out someone else's. So he married the girl, and she seemed to be happy enough, and he found some rest in this marriage, and gave it no further thought.

Not until the dreams came back for the first time, and then he knew he would never be free of the past, and he knew his lady's spirit would forever remain with him, and he learnt his marriage was but one great mistake. But it was too late for regrets, and there was a child on the way already, and he would not make his child pay for the mistakes that were his.

It takes Gorim a long time to fall asleep again, because every time his eyelids shut, he can see his lady's fair face and her eyes. But when he finally does, he hears the words of his own promise to wait for her and to love her always, echoing over and over in his mind.

. . .

At first there is nothing but an immense, overwhelming joy, because his lady is alive, and he is alive, and against all odd they met again, and there are no coherent words, just urgent 'You're alive' and 'My lady' and 'I'm so glad' and 'You made it to Denerim as you said you will'. And Gorim's heart stops, because he said he would wait, and Ancestors, he did not. She had been his life and he did not wait for her.

He has no choice but to tell his lady everything, and has even no more right to call her his lady but still he does, because that is what she has always been and will always be.

She keeps her face impassive, but he can see the hurt in her eyes, and inside he dies all over again, cursing and pleading and Ancestors, why?! He wants to beg her forgiveness, to confess he never stopped loving her and to say that when she walked out into the Deep Roads, she took his heart with her, and when he thought she was dead, his heart withered. But he can do none of these things.

He has a wife he is pledged to, and there is a child on the way, and he cannot leave them. Ancestors, if he only knew... But he did not, and he did what it took to survive, and because his heart was dead there was no reason he should not have made that girl happy, even when he could not see any hope for happiness for himself. And now he cannot back off.

He lost his love, his home, his honour, his name was wiped off the Stone forever, and the only things he had was his word, and now his lady will walk away and he will lose his love for the second time, he will be left with nothing but his word again. And he cannot break his promise, because if he goes back on his word he will lose that last part of himself still left alive.

Gorim wishes he could tell her all this, he wishes he could make understand somehow that he regrets this decision, that had he only known she was alive he would have waited, that... He cannot voice it. He cannot find words. So he just looks at her with all the desperations and helplessness he feels and all the love he still harbours for her.

"My lady... my..." Memories come in a flash, unbidden, and by the change on her face he can tell she recalls the same moment.

"I know," his lady says with a smile that breaks both her heart and his all over again, because they both know he has already broken his promise to her, and the Gorim she once knew is no more.

The only thing left of the man he used to be is his love for her, but that will never be not because she is dead, which she is not, but because he has made his decision too soon. If he only knew... A quiet voice at the back of his head is whispering, accusing, because you did not know, yes, but you guessed, Gorim, you felt, you hoped and then let your hope die, and now you will pay for this, Gorim, oh, yes, you will pay, you will keep paying the price until the end of your days.

As Gorim watches his lady go away, his heart turns to ash.


End file.
